Scotian to Liverpool. The fifteen ships proceeded in a formation of three lines of vessels, five ships to each line. I should say that the ships extended backward about an equal distance. The troop ships were preceded by an auxiliary cruiser for about one-third of the way across the Atlantic. On board the S. Scotian , in addition to our men, was a regiment of artillery of the 33rd Division. We were much crowded, and there was not room enough for all soldiers to be on deck at once; hence, companies would alternate in spending time during the day on deck.
We were literally packed on that boat like sardines in a can. Only those who have sailed on such a transport under similar conditions can appreciate the tremendous difficulties under which an American soldier reached France in Mark Sullivan has described it well: "Fantastic with camouflage, the ship moved down the bay and met other transports; together they headed toward the open sea.
Somewhere in the Atlantic they would pick up their convoy of gray, rake-lined destroyers. The men crowded into the hold, where bunks jammed to the ceiling; when the ship rose, swayed and fell, sea-sickness became contagious, epidemic, the quarters almost unbearable.
Officers forbade smoking on deck, ordered all lights covered. There was nothing to do but shoot craps or play poker, until, entering the war zone, one could look for submarines every piece of driftwood, every breaking wave, became a periscope. Perhaps, one morning, doughboys lined the rail to watch the white wake of a torpedo slide by the stern, and see the destroyers, belching smoke, dash in to drop a depth bomb.
In the geyser of foam which boomed up were scraps of metal, and oil spread on the water. The stands cheered as if Ty Cobb had stolen home. Yet our trip on the S. Scotian was not particularly exciting.
